


The Anthology of A Forger and a Point Man

by saltydaridad



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, Post-Canon, an anthology, because most of the drabbles feature arthur with said look, dream husbands, he's that amazing, i want you to picture jgl with a beard and glasses
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:34:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,251
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22862593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saltydaridad/pseuds/saltydaridad
Summary: Drabbles and small snippets of writing I make without much thought - just for self-indulgence. Feast your eyes. Knock yourself out. I hope they're of your liking.
Relationships: Arthur/Eames (Inception)
Kudos: 9





	1. It's Different With You.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> got a bit of an explanation going at the end - its a doozy AKSJDH

Should a man enter Arthur's mind, the labyrinth of armed projections, never ending stairs resembles that of a Möbius strip—it's looping and impossible and navigating it would either mean the extractor gets lost, gets killed, or runs out of somnacin to keep going.  
  


However, the thing about Arthur's wild card nature is that it takes yet another wild card to read him—that's where Eames comes in.  
  


To Arthur, Eames is no longer an enigma—nor was he one in the first place—Arthur likes knowing things. It was inevitable, so to speak. And the development of what was between them continues to help the other learn more about what it truly was like to be with the other. It was like solving a lifelong jigsaw puzzle that didn't always have all the necessary pieces at once—wouldn't have been fun that way.  
  
So now, with Eames finding himself running up the stupid Penrose steps that never seemed to end until he breaks free from the loop, finding himself face-to-face with that _one_ door.

  
Eames doesn't know what's behind it.

  
The first time he's tried this with Arthur, it went poorly—ending with both of them waking up and a very miffed Englishman was more questioning Arthur as to why he was jostled awake because Arthur in the dream had broken a bone—and the next few times before that.  
  
Arthur's resorted to just telling Eames to give it up. But now, they've practiced and they've consulted each other before this, and at this point, Eames is just _dying_ to know what's behind it.  
  
He places a hand on the knob, heart racing and hammering in his ears while his muscles tense and his jaw tightens, before he eventually turns the doorknob (which surprisingly opens without it being yanked away or something).

What Eames finds behind the door is . . . unexpected—there was nothing but the vast expanse of a tall yellow grass field on a breezy day.  
Eames looks around, and he can't exactly pin point where Arthur might be in the field, but. . .  
  
He's gotta try.  
  
Wading through the sea of golden grass as he looked and looked—what he was looking for, he wasn't sure. He's getting tired of it soon when his boot hits something hard—something wooden.  
  
Leaning down to pick up what seems to be a very small chest, locked and the thief pulls out a pin and starts lock picking, the small lock clicking open before Eames checks what's inside. It was. . . empty.  
  
  
"Find what you were looking for?"  
  
  
Eames looks up and he sees Arthur—but. . . he was wearing a loose sweater with ripped jeans and Chucks on his feet. Was this Arthur, or was this just a projection? (Couldn't be—Eames doesn't work that way, and besides, this was Arthur's dream.)  
  
  
"Darling, there's nothing really here, though," Eames says, standing up and he walks over to Arthur. The point man reaches up and rubs the back of his neck—ignoring how the chest was a stark contrast against the light colors of the scenery—a small blip of black in a sea of gold.  
  
"Come now, can't make me go through all that just to tell me your secret is an empty box," he says, voice a little bit nervous before Arthur just chuckles, shaking his head.  
  
  
"No, no, you found it," he assures the forger before he puts a hand on the small chest, looking up at Eames, "Just promise me you'll never let me go?"  
  
  
Eames is surprised by the request but his brows furrow a little as he nods, pulling Arthur close to him. "You know I'm not the type to just up and leave you, petal, of course I'm not going anywhere."  
  
Arthur nods, melting into his arms and burying his face into Eames' shoulder.  
"Thank you."  
  
When they wake up from this, Eames will have figured out by then what the empty chest entails—what it means in Arthur's context and what it means to Arthur in general. By then, he'd have figured out how badly the point man has it for him too—and how he has it worse for him since they started.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So like, the thing about the chest was that, it /did/ hold Arthur's secret.  
> One thing to note is that, the way Eames came into the mindscape of the grass field was through a door-from the field it's a cobblestone house, and that's the funny thing about it. Eames can open and close the door all he wants, but it's always going to be from the apartment stairwell and the field. When Arthur does it, it's apartment stairwell, cobblestone house living room, kitchen, bedroom, and the field.
> 
> About Arthur's secret...   
> Arthur's safe was the chest—much more simplified than what he usually had before Eames (it was a full blown stronghold)—but his mind shifts into something more different than it used to whenever it's Eames extracting his secrets, and even Arthur can't explain it, it just happens. This is definitely post-admission about his past, and his subconscious just shifted without his knowing, and he was surprised himself.
> 
> The chest used to hold a secret—that he can't do anything without Eames and that he would like to live forever with him—a truth Arthur couldn't come into terms with until he was over the pain of his past, a secret that was held within the stronghold. So when that was out in the open, there was only one secret left for Arthur to give Eames, and he's laid it bare already, so there's really no point in hiding it from Eames, thus the empty chest.


	2. Arthur Is Only Human

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur's still human, just like any one of us. And that is why, he doesn't protest when he finds himself hyperventilating against Eames' chest while they sit on the floor in his apartment.

Arthur doesn't like jobs that go to shit.   
  
For one, it makes him internally panic until he gets to safety — and even then he's still worried.   
  
  
Secondly, it's unnecessary load to his mind and his record and his body—mind: what could've happened and multiple (a _multitude_ , even) of what-if's, record: who else is added on his list of people who want his head, and body: the fatigue of needing to run and to hide.   
  
Arthur is a versatile man, and more so reliable and he can handle so many jobs, compartmentalize so many emotions, take care of so many things and the like. But he's still human—he can only carry so much weight.   
  
So when the job with a double-crossing architect that was in it with the extractor and the mark was killed before Arthur could do anything—so now he has to run— _again_.   
  
  
Arthur hates running—it's another thing he hates—if anything, he _abhors_ it. It's connected to his hate for jobs that go wrong.   
  
  
So now, with his chest hurting and his heart pounding in his ears, he takes a seat in the compartment of a train on it's way to Kyoto. Another Japan job gone wrong, and he absolutely hates it.   
  
He makes sure no one else enters the compartment because he's tired and he's feeling panicky and his hands are surprisingly shaking. He fumbles for his totem—a beautiful red loaded die—before he starts to test it for results.   
  
  
One. One. One. One again.   
  
  
Arthur sighs, and he leans back into his seat, closing his eyes with a hand over them to shield them from the not-so-dull light outside. He's tired—very tired—he just wants to lie down, maybe rest, maybe not dream, just to let himself breathe.  
  
The train stops at Kyoto, and he finds himself a nice hotel to stay in, before he drops his duffel bag down on the armchair in his bedroom, places his PASIV under his bed, and he goes to the bathroom, still too wired to do anything but just brace himself on the sink, head hanging low with his sleeves rolled up and beads of sweat starting to form and roll down his temples.   
  
"Fuck, fuck, _fuck_ ," he mutters, fumbling for the die again. One, one—it's always one, and he peels himself away from the sink after he's at least washed his face, and he hears the front door click. With a swift movement, his gun is drawn and he's stalking his way to the entrance when he hears it—   
  
  
"Darling?"   
  
  
Arthur steps out to see a man in that _horrendous_ paisley pink shirt under an olive green coat, khaki pants and that thin chain from his belt to his wallet.   
  
Arthur breathes, "Eames, you... you're here, I—"   
  
Eames, smile turning into a worried expression when he sees the appearance of the dreamshare community's most renowned and feared Pointman, is walking towards him and placing a hand on the gun before subsequently taking it from his hands to put it aside, brushing away the loose and damp locks of hair from Arthur's face with a gentle hand.   
"Of course, darling. Your text sounded so frantic—you're lucky I was nearby."   
  
Arthur's exhausted. He can't help but lean into the hand—the warm, big hand—of the Forger who's gotten himself in his hotel room.   
  
  
Arthur is only human. He can only handle so much, and so much is a lot even for him.   
  
  
So when he finds himself looking up at Eames with a tired, almost _pleading_ expression, he's already cursing himself mentally before pulling away—much to Eames's dismay.  
  
"Sweetheart, you're sweating and breathing harder than a dog that chased after its tail for fifteen minutes, calm down—"   
  
  
"I _can't_ calm down, I _can't_ and I—" he gasps, hands going up to tangle themselves into his hair, and he squeezes his eyes shut, "—this was a double-double-crossing job and if the architect and the e-extractor, I—"   
  
  
"Darling, please," Eames says softly, walking towards him again, and placing his hands on Arthur's shoulders. "Breathe, breathe for me, come on, you can do that, can't you?"   
  
  
Arthur nods wordlessly, trying to shrink in on himself, and he just back himself into the corner of the room, before he slides down to the ground, to which Eames follows suit to sit beside him, just staying close and soon enough, able to pull Arthur to his side.   
"That's it, petal, just breathe," he murmurs, holding Arthur's hand and holding him close by the shoulders. "Bugger, you've been working nonstop again to have this bad an episode, haven't you...?"   
  
He says softly, rubbing his arm and lowering his head to press his face into Arthur's damp hair. Arthur squeezes his eyes shut, just pressing close to Eames, and he tries in vain to even out his breathing which proves to be unfruitful until a few minutes later.   
  
"That's a good pet," Eames murmurs, and Arthur finds that he doesn't mind the nicknames right now.  
  
  
It takes even more time for Arthur to fully recover, and Eames is just there, holding him, whispering sweet nothings and encouragement to him, and just letting him hold onto his coat, his hand, letting him bury his face into his shoulder.   
  
"Feeling better, love?" He murmurs when Arthur's no longer shaking as if he were a small chihuahua. To which, Arthur responds with a nod, and Eames smiles, kissing the top of his head.   
  
  
Arthur thinks he's warm.   
  
  
A bit more time passes—the gun is put away, Arthur is cleaned up and Eames is soon helping him to bed, sitting on the edge as he starts pulling the covers up over Arthur.   
  
  
That's when Arthur places a hand on Eames's, warm yet very tired eyes on him, "... stay tonight... with me."   
  
  
Eames only smiles, "I didn't have any other plans tonight, darling—of course I'm staying with you."   
  
  
"In bed with me, please..?"   
  
  
The tired smile on Arthur's face makes Eames's heart beat painfully, before he leans over to press a gentle kiss to Arthur's forehead, "I'm not going anywhere, I promise."


	3. Eames Thinks New Things Can Be Scary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eames loves Arthur very much.  
> But sometimes, it can take some getting used to when it comes to certain things.
> 
> Like genuinely smiling, for example.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which, Arthur's last name is Schultz, and Eames' last name is Locke.

"Arthur, darling, you are scaring me."   
  
Eames has known Arthur for almost more than fifteen years and he has _never_ seen Arthur like this.   
  
  
Arthur rarely smiles—when he does, it's very subtle, sometimes a smirk, most times it's just the quirk of his lips, and nothing more.   
  
Eames has seen Arthur's dimples and the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles very genuinely once in a blue moon—that was when he proposed to the man. But right now, it was lasting too long, and not that Eames didn't mind it, but.   
  
  
Arthur turns around as he took off his coat jacket, left in his white pinstripe dress shirt, and his dark red tie is pinned with a gold pin, before he just can't help but take Eames' hands.   
  
"It's rare for me to feel or even _look_ like this, Eames, you want me to stop?"   
  
  
Eames feels his face burn with warmth and color, and he looks down at their hands, the bands on their ring fingers glinting in the hotel's light, before he looks up at Arthur, "No, no, that's not what I meant, I—you're just—"   
  
  
Arthur laughs, full and warm and hearty, moving to pull Eames into a sweet, slow but sure kiss, eyes closing as Eames, in return, lets go of his hands and wraps his arms around him, wide palms resting on the small of Arthur's back as he savors the contact, content.  
  
They pull away from the kiss, to breathe, and they're both panting if only just a little, making them both chuckle and laugh a bit as their foreheads press together, Arthur's hands on Eames's shoulders. The forger opens his eyes to look at Arthur—to look at his _husband_ —and he sighs dreamily.   
  
  
"You have no idea how long I've been trying to get you to smile like this, my dear, dear Arthur," he breathes, lips ghosting over Arthur's when he looks up, "It fills me with unending happiness to see your dimples again."   
  
Now it's Arthur's turn to flush a little, glancing away momentarily before he looks back at Eames with a smile that shows off those dimples Eames loves so much, "Well, you get to see them whenever you want to now, Mr. Schultz."  
  
  
The name makes Eames shudder—pleasantly—he loves the sound of it. _Eames Locke-Schultz_ , he thinks, _it's got a nice ring to it._   
  
  
"And I couldn't ask for more, darling."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, they're married, keep scrolling-


	4. After All This Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur knows his husband very well. So does Eames.
> 
> That's about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will have to say that the implications of a slow death are in there somewhere, and it's not your typical bullet to the head/other body parts, (it's implied impaling), so be careful about this one.

_Step right, step left._   
  
  
Arthur comes to from his reverie, looking up from his champagne in hand and he sweeps the ball room with steady eyes, observing from the open seaside veranda, making sure nothing is amiss, and he's pretty sure that his own team was around, having spotted them momentarily.   
  
  
_Step front, step back._   
  
  
Arthur was the dreamer in this level—there was only one—and his architecture was _impeccable_. Every detail and design crisp and real, but also not.   
  
His work as point man was also deliciously executed—no subconscious weaponization whatsoever—and so he leans back where he was, letting people do their dancing, keeping a steady gaze on the ballroom.  
  
  
 _Tip toe, slide, stop._   
  
  
Everything seems to be going well so far, and he's sipping his champagne when a figure approaches him—tall, strawberry blonde, blue eyes—and he stares for a moment before she talks.   
  
"Hey handsome, you got any plans tonight?" She asks, in the most sweet voice she could probably have mustered.   
  
Arthur takes the exaggeration into consideration, and he hums. _Same eyes, same hair—she leans with her hip, just like he does—_ Arthur chuckles, bringing his champagne glass up to his lips, eyes closing as he talked and purposefully lifts his ring finger to reveal the wedding band there.   
  
  
"Sorry, dear, but I'm happily married," he says, to which the woman wasn't sure whether or not she should be giddy or disappointed.   
  
  
She chooses to change back to so Eames could be giddy.   
  
  
Arthur chuckles, just letting Eames pull him close with an arm around his waist and he sighs, staying there, and resting his head on the Forger's shoulder.   
  
"Shouldn't you be helping steal the information we need right now," he murmurs, to which Eames snorts, shrugging, turning his head a little to kiss Arthur's bearded jaw.   
  
  
"Already did—just a matter of time now before the fun starts." As if on cue, someone in the ballroom yells bloody murder, and Arthur, having knocked back his champagne, turns to look at Eames, knowing full well that the sharp rocks down below were enough to wake up without having to shoot each other, and he offers his hand.  
  
  
 _Spin and dip._   
  
Eames's eyes open first, and he's quick to unhook himself before he turns to Arthur, who was only just waking up, making Eames concerned, but he doesn't ask—Arthur wouldn't want him to—not while they're still here.   
  
Soon they're unhooking the mark, packing up the PASIV, and making their way out of the hotel and heading out.   
  
  
_Pull back up, sway._   
  
  
Eames moves to hold Arthur's hand once they were in the comfort of their seats on a plane ride heading back to London, and he raises Arthur's hand to kiss his knuckles, giving his fingers a slight squeeze. "Why didn't you wake up with me earlier?"   
  
  
Arthur sighs, leaning back into his seat and closing his eyes, "... got stuck on the rocks."   
  
  
That makes Eames wince, and he can only pull Arthur closer, kissing his temple, and rubbing his shoulder, "Next time we off ourselves to wake up in a dream, let's just use guns—quick and clean—as usual."   
  
Arthur nods and he soon dozes off, finding comfort in the close proximity between him and his husband, but he's able to murmur something before he does.   
  
  
Eames only smiles, pressing his face to the top of Arthur's head. "I love you, too, darling."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lemme copy paste what I told my friend about this before:
> 
> "Take it as u will,  
> The italicize is like  
> Symbolism of how they danced around each other for a while  
> The part where someone is spun and dipped is like them finally falling and trusting the other with himself  
> The part where it says "pull back up, and sway" is them falling into step with each other and just being comfortable with each other to the point that its finally okay"


	5. A Little Birdy Told Me...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically "Arthur Is Human" but version 2.0 without the panic attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said, these are just drabbles that come to me at a random time of the day, and if I repeat plots, that's why.
> 
> Also no, they aren't married here. Yet. Unfortunately.

Arthur's eyes snap open, and he's soon ripping the drip off his wrist before doing the same for the mark, and he packs up the PASIV and disappears again.   
  
  
London, Paris, Belgium, Tokyo, Rio de Janeiro—he's soon back in Los Angeles after multiple jobs going right after the other, with the smallest interval being a literal 8 hours (which was the plane ride) and the largest interval being three weeks.  
  
He hasn't slept properly in a few months.   
  
This last job he did as a solo run, making him move from Buenos Aires back to Los Angeles at last was nothing too serious—made sure to clean everything up spick and span, before he left the mark.   
  
Upon arrival at his undercover apartment, he flicks the light on, dropping his luggage in his room, and the PASIV is soon tucked away in his closet. He gets himself ready for bed at least, not really in the mood to let this drag on anymore than it should.   
  
Arthur leaves the bathroom, and he stops in his movements when he hears a creak of one of the doors. It doesn't take him more than a minute to take out a gun, stalking his way through his apartment when he reaches up for the light switch, flicks it on and—  
  
  
"Eames?" His voice rasps from disuse.   
  
  
The figure that Arthur was pretty sure he saw from the corner of his eye in the darkness, was seated in his arm chair, and the figure was also wearing a desaturated violet shirt, striped with various sized stripes. He was also grinning like a madman.   
  
"Darling, you really shouldn't make it a habit to not check your apartment," Eames playfully scolds him, to which Arthur's expression sours, and he straightens his posture, brows furrowed.   
  
  
"How did you find my apartment," he asks, raspiness slowly vanishing.  
  
  
"Oh, it's really not that hard when I know you like the back of my hand, come now, don't be a sour man," he chides, walking over and putting his hands in his pockets, "It's not like I came here to kill you or something, Jesus, calm down."   
  
Arthur's expression smoothens out when Eames is now standing in front of him, and he looks up into those ocean eyes of his, captivated before he sniffs, a small cold developing in the back of his throat. "So now what do you want to do."   
  
  
Eames's smile falters, after surveying Arthur's overall appearance and listening to him speak, the Englishman places his hands on Arthur's shoulders (he doesn't protest).  
  
"You've been overworking yourself again, darling," he says softly, making sure that eye contact is not broken, "You have knots in your shoulders, circles under your eyes, shadows on your jaw, raspiness in your throat, a headache in your temple—you're _tense_. And I suggest you let me take care of you."   
  
  
Arthur's taken aback by how he's listed down all his ailments, and the point man looks away, murmuring, “Why’re you here, Eames…?”   
  
  
Eames, ever the enigmatic wildcard, just moves to card a hand through Arthur’s already-mussed up hair. He smiles as he feels Arthur’s cheeks grow warm, “I heard from a little birdy that you’re in need of some good taking care of—I intend to do just that.”


End file.
